Springtime Fairy Tales
by Crown Wit
Summary: Judar has made it his mission to terrorize Kou's court physician until she either stopped resisting or had an aneurysm out of sheer frustration. Unfortunately, everything does not always go according to plan, some people have the mental fortitude of a zen master, and fate is very, very cruel. Judar/Oc
1. Prologue

Springtime Fairy Tales

 **Prologue**

"A kingdom with no name is where I call home. Blurred in my mind like freshly smudged ink. A collection of snow white and ash black towers seem to pierce the cloudless sky and I wonder. Through whose eyes am I watching these events unfold?"

 _He wandered the solemn palace halls, a gallant criminal turned faithful servant and warrior clothed in extravagant robes that glowed bloody red in the rich evening light._

 _He roamed, uncharacteristically melancholic, without purpose, spare a much needed and well deserved break from those who called him 'friend.' His oldest friend, now a king, had begun weaving the same tales of grandeur, valor, and idiocy that lined the stone palace walls in the form of fanciful tapestries. As custom dictated, his fellow household members were occupied by a feast on account of the coronation and their king's most recently vanquished enemy._

 _And while his kingdom's finest warriors, amongst a myriad of apprentices and starry-eyed boys seeking tales of adventure, cavorted with busty handmaidens and the occasional whore, the man clad in red recalled that this place still seemed impossibly foreign to him. It was too opulent. The very institution he had rebelled against when he was a boy, he was now helping to create._

 _He knew the world was cruel and laughably ironic but he could not find the strength to laugh._

 _Not this time._

 _He was a serious man, that king of his, faithfully somber to some unknown cause even at the brightest of moments. The man in red took a swig from a filched goblet of wine as he carelessly waltzed onto an open balcony and basked in the colors of the sunset. Many who took up the title of 'warrior' feared the man in red, believing him to be something divine in nature._

 _"Goddess born," they call Athanasios the Immortal._

 _He laughed, amidst the sorrow that his unbreakable memory brought, at just how wrong they were. He downed the wine, praying that it would dull his senses, if only slightly. There was dark work to do tonight. Iason had offered to do it himself but Athanasios guessed that it'd be best if he did the killing. Iason had deemed that that one couldn't be trusted. Too unpredictable. Without a shred of loyalty to her name. And then, looking out across his kingdom, his home, a glint of white caught his eye. The source of his impending sorrow._

 _He smiled sadly at her and moved to do what needed be done._

 _For his newfound country._

 _For his home._

 _For his king._

 _A beauty unrefined and mesmerizing stalked the grandiose gardens as twilight settled into the northern skies. She strode, ethereal and enchanting. A dark beauty unrivaled in war and in killing. Her festive gown, white like lilies, shifted around the ankles with the summer breeze._

 _Alas that such beauty was worthless to her purpose. Attempts to win her heart came and went as frequently as falling autumn leaves. Fortunately, both shriveled up and died with the gentle assistance of time. She found that attempts to snatch up her affections were pitiable and she diligently worked to turn every longing gaze into one of contempt and disdain. It had become something of a hobby of hers._

 _Making others detest her. And despite what those who had the gall to call her 'friend' believed, she quite enjoyed her hobby. Watching men's faces twist and redden as she dismantled their pride gave her more pleasure than any of them could have ever hoped to give._

 _Harmonia knew that such efforts regarding love and marriage were just as futile as her own efforts had been on the land's most famous warrior. She was doing the kingdom's bachelors a favor honestly. None knew of her...ailment._

 _She wasn't the type to gossip with the servant girls about the nervous flutter in her chest whenever he called her name or the pained squeeze her heart made when she had seen him in the company of another. It was an ancient disease, one as old as time itself. She concealed it well, the festering wound in her chest. Harmonia hated to admit it, to herself most of all but her heart and soul had been stolen by Athanasios. She wandered like a restless spirit, clinging to its grudge even in death._

 _"You should be at the ceremony. It's not often that a farm boy obtains a crown."_

 _The statement was meant to be humorous, she reckoned. His inflection hinted at humor as did the cheeky little smile she knew he was wearing but then again they always did that. Athanasios was one for laughs and good humor in the best of times and boundless compassion in the worst of them. An anomaly of the highest proportion. Harmonia could say with certainty backed by experience that the love of her life was a good man. Good and kind. The thought of it still made her shiver._

 _Putting on the smirk she was best known for, she turned to face the source of her greatest agony and deepest joy. "Seeing that it was you and your lot that agreed to put him there, I could say the same to you."_

 _"It wasn't me or my lot that told him he could be a king nor did we give him the power to do it. Everything that's happening here today, it's all because of you. It's a celebration. You should go."_

 _"And do what? Watch our esteemed King Iason get drunk and stare awkwardly at every pretty face or big pair of-"_

 _"-Language, Harmonia."_

 _"Tits. Titties. Boobs. Jugs. Watermelons. Coconuts. Queen jewels. The one thing that can possibly keep your husband from having a go at the blacksmith's wife. All Iason does when he's drunk is silently leer at the nearest pair of flesh melons. I want no part in his embarrassment."_

 _"Why do you insist on making this difficult for me? He wants you there so that he can thank you for all you've done. Also, if you had said that in front of any other man, they would see it as an invitation. I'd be more careful if I were you."_

 _"I don't need his thanks and I am perfectly capable of controlling my invitations. Let me tell you a little secret of mine. I made Iason king of this place for no other reason than because I wanted to. It wasn't because I thought he'd be good at it. I chose him precisely because I knew he wouldn't be."_

 _The mirth fell away from his face so fast Harmonia regretted opening her mouth. It often seemed to go like this between the two of them. With him being kind and happy and full of life and her envying him for it. So much so that she would say things like that. Things that would hurt him._

 _"I know that much."_

 _There was a sharpness to his eyes now. One that she'd only ever seen once before. Should've just kept her big mouth shut. Should've just gone to the banquet._

 _"Huh?"_

 _"Ten years I've known you and you think I didn't pick up on that? Despite everything you promised me, you are still the same wretched snake you were when I first met you. Filled with nothing but cruelty and envy." The funny thing about this was that she knew she should have felt hurt by his words. But she didn't, not in the slightest. Only relief. He knew her. Truly. When close to no one did. That was all she could ever ask for._

 _Her one and only continued on. "I trusted you, you know. Would have died for you. But all those feelings are behind me now. You bring only chaos, Harmonia. You'll only bring chaos." He shook his head as if trying to dislodge something from that pretty head of his._

 _And then suddenly there was a shattering of translucent gold. It took her a moment to realize that it was her borg that was surrounding her and slowly crumbling to pieces. It took Harmonia even longer to figure out the reason why. She hadn't felt the blade one bit. But there it was, sticking straight out of her chest, blood blooming out like the spider lilies in the spring. She tried to speak and found that she couldn't._

 _"For my king-"_

The scratch of pen on parchment came to a steady stop. Setting the pen aside, she set to reading over what she had written and once she has finished, could not help the frown that took over. A lover killing a lover. A tried and true concept given how often it happened in real life. The death of a magician at the hands of the man who could only benefit from her being alive. Isra leaned back in her chair. Why kill her if there was nothing to be gained?

 _'You are chaos, Harmonia.'_

Could a man really be persuaded to murder the one he loved in cold blood? She hummed in thought, slumped in her chair, head lolling back. Only if there were a greater cause, something he believed would be just and true.

 _'For my king.'_

Kill your lover for your king. For the hope of a better future. Jerking up, she blinked at the ink scribbles on the page and scoffed at what she'd written. She shook her head at it. There was no need for embellishments. She should have just done the bare bones of their story and left it on the page where it belonged. But no. She carried Athanasios and his tragedy with her like an iron ball around her ankle. She let him weigh down her heart because that's what he would have wanted. He would have wanted to be remembered - even if it were for his idiocy.

The door to her private quarters cracked against to wall with a reverberating bang and Isra could have sworn she died a little from the shock. She jumped in her seat, whipped around to see none other than Judar, Great Oracle of the Kou Empire, the Black Magi, and 'Personal Wrecker of All Your Shit', as he'd so eloquently phrased it, soaked from head to toe and positively seething.

"I fell in the goddamn koi pond."

"I can see that."

"You fucking _drugged_ me?!"

In her defense, Judar had been acting out more than usual. There was no malicious intent behind dosing his tea with enough valerian root to knock out a horse. Well. Her intent wasn't totally malicious anyway. She just wanted a few moments of peace and quiet so that she could write without having acerbic comments thrown in her face every five minutes. That was all she wanted. But she had a feeling that at this particular moment Judar was beyond reasoning with.

He took her silence for affirmation and shoved a hand down his choli, feeling for his wand.

It was then that Isra jumped up from her chair and made a flying leap through the window just as her room exploded in expletives and giant-sized ice crystals.

* * *

Who loves villains? I love villains. Judar is a villain.

-Crown Wit


	2. Routines

**Chapter 1** : Routines

Everything was a healthy green; the grass in the gardens, the leaves on the trees, her hair and keen eyes.

Isra was crouched down on her haunches, a basket of herbs and flowers halfway filled by her side. Judar thought he spied some valerian root there though from his perch high up in the peach tree it was difficult to tell. He scowled as an angry flush crept up his neck and ears. The mere memory of the chaos that the damned plant had wreaked on his pride threatened to send the trigger happy magician into another fit.

Excluding the youngest of the Kou brothers, it had been the first time anyone had dared prank him back. It had been unexpected, subtle and, after about a week of careful deliberation, Judar had come to the conclusion that it had been damn perfect. One of his legs dangled freely from the branches and while glaring down at the young physician, he started swinging it back and forth like the eager flicking of a cat's tail. She had the guts to retaliate, a trait so rare within the confines of the palace that he couldn't help but be a little bit curious and a little bit peeved.

So, ready to make his presence known, he folded his arms across his chest, cleared his throat, smirked, and waited.

A minute passed and Isra continued her picking without interruption. Maybe she hadn't heard him, he was pretty high up after all. Judar harrumphed obnoxiously loud and waited.

Isra stood.

She held the basket snugly underneath her arm and began to walk off without so much as a twitch in his direction. Jaw dropping open like dead weight, that familiar mix of indignation, embarrassment, and awe he'd felt at being caught in another's prank rushed full force onto his face in a bright red blush. Judar snatched an unripened peach off the tree and flung it at her with all his strength.

It missed her by a minuscule margin, whizzing past her ear and crashing instead through a nearby window screen. The sound of things breaking and a high pitched screech filled the silence. Finally, Isra looked over her shoulder at him and stared. A nice blend of shock and amusement colored her features.

"You are insane," she told him.

Judar took that as a compliment.

* * *

Isra stood between perhaps the two biggest jackasses the world has ever seen. To her left stood Judar, rocking back and forth on his heels, his neatly manicured hands behind his back, the poster child of feigned innocence. In front of her was one of the Emperor's courtesans who, due to Magi's epic peach toss, had irremovable ink stains all over her new red silk dress.

The courtesan looked just about ready to choke her out so the physician held her hands out in a meager form of protection. "Well, you see, this actually wasn't my fault and here's why. I didn't throw the peach," she jerked her thumb over to Judar, keeping the other hand in prime body blocking position. "He did. It is this man's fault that your dress is ruined. I had nothing to do with it."

"But you were the target, weren't you?!"

Isra blinked. She couldn't be serious.

"Um, excuse me?"

"You should have known better than to ignore our esteemed Oracle like that." Oh sweet karma, she is serious. "He retaliated as he did only because of your insolence, your blatant disregard for common curtesy."

Isra looked over at Judar who seemed to be having the time of his life trying to restrain his giggles. "I believe it's pronounced courtesy," she said, not taking her eyes off the Magi, wordlessly praying that he choke on his amusement.

"What?"

Isra sighed and set to explaining. "A curtsy is a lady's formal greeting made by bending the knees with one foot in front of the other. Courtesy is the showing of-"

The irate courtesan didn't even let her finish. She lunged at her, screeching at the top of her lungs like a de-feathered harpy. Isra darted back and gracelessly dodged the harlot's attempts to claw her eyes out.

Judar had a _conniption_.

By the time the courtesan had tired herself out to the point of giving up, twenty minutes had past, Isra was waist deep in the shrubbery with various flora decorating her hair like a bird's nest, and the Magi was twitching on the ground in a puddle of his own tears. Once the coast was clear, she stumbled out of the shrubbery, locks of curly leaf green hair sticking out at odd angles, and wandered over to the incapacitated dark magician.

"As a doctor, I have the feeling I should ask if you're alright but considering recent events I don't think I'm going to."

He laid there quietly like a sack of magical potatoes.

"Judar?" She nudged him with her foot.

He didn't respond.

"Judar?" She tried again.

"Have you finally decided to stop harassing me?"

That got him up. Judar jerked up into a sitting position. "Not a chance little miss lean, green prostitute-fighting machine."

"I think I'm going to start ignoring you again."

"What?!" He squawked. "You heard the lady! Ignoring people is wrong and rude and really should never be done to a person as handsome as me." He punctuated his opinion by tapping her playfully on the nose.

Isra swore she went cross-eyed for a couple of seconds.

"Are you actually insane? I almost died back there."

"Says the woman who took a running swan dive out a window a week ago."

"Yes, well, the woman who was one good lunge away from crushing my windpipe like a walnut, no thanks to you, was one of Emperor Koutoku favorites of four years. Can you imagine how much upper arm and finger strength she has by now? Would have snapped my neck right in two."

Judar gave her a look.

"...Did you just...?"

Isra smiled innocently.

It wasn't the first time she'd joked like that and it wouldn't be the last. It was however, the first time she'd joked like this in front of Judar. The unexpectedness of it all was what got him. Bent over at the waist and clutching his aching sides, Judar tried in vain to keep his hysterical cachinnations at bay.

Humor seemed to be the best way of dealing with him, she noted and would hopefully get her out of future sticky situations. Generally speaking, it would be harder for Judar to turn her into an ice sculpture when he can't even get the incantations out from how hard he's laughing.

She escaped to her secondary quarters, a few paces away from the western infirmary, while she still had the chance all the while holding down giggles of her own. Judar's laughter was infectious, it seemed.

* * *

"Having an adorable little assistant to follow you around and do your bidding is one of the perks of being chief physician.

It would make things much simpler for you if you got one."

At her little wooden desk, Isra drew the glue-coated brush along the strip of parchment. It was a nice work space, she had. The room had belonged to the previous chief physician now eight feet under who had furnished it to his liking; it came complete with three windows (on the right, left, and back walls), a wall of cabinets and counter space (to store any and all herbs and ointments), a futon (for all those research filled nights), and a number of secret compartments. Isra had discovered three so far.

"Perhaps I will," Isra replied as she picked up the strip, careful to get as little glue on her fingers as possible, and flattened it against the glass jar. "One day," she added wistfully, "but not today."

Having inspected her handiwork for a short while, she slid it over to the rest to dry.

"As you wish then," the handmaiden answered.

Isra smiled looked up and smiled at the girl sitting in the corner of her desk. Cho, black haired and doe-eyed, smiled back.

The girl, Cho Mai looked to be in her mid teens and was pretty in the way that would make men stop and stare. It hadn't escaped her notice that Cho was the Kou textbook definition of a beautiful woman. Whereas Isra was full-figured, curly-haired, and kissed by the sun, Cho Mai was the exact opposite. She'd been lurking around the area when Isra had arrived, apparently seeking refuge for a long and hard day at work. "Shouldn't you be doing something more productive than talking to me?"

"I thought you wouldn't mind the company."

 _True enough. It is awfully quiet when no one is sick, injured, or dying._

"I don't." Isra shrugged, sidestepping a couple paces. "But Lady Hakuei might." She reached for the cabinet knobs, going up on her tiptoes, and pulled them open.

"You'd think so, considering how her mother is. But in my experience, Lady Hakuei is quite pleasant. Beautiful and good-tempered, it's a wonder she hasn't found a suitor yet."

Isra made a sound, a cross between an intrigued hum and a grunt as she strained to grab the jars on the top shelf. "We need to get you a step stool," commented Cho.

"I've got it." Using the counter top for support, the olive-skinned woman hopped and nabbed two jars and three vials labeled 'mullein' thanks to her sticky fingers.

Squatting down, the physician took her basket of herbs and set it gingerly on the counter. Picking out all the mullein she'd gathered, Isra separated the flowers, the leaves, and the roots. "What's that stuff for?"

While refilling the jars with mullein root and pulling a mortar and pestle from a drawer, Isra answered. "Mullein is mainly used for inflammatory diseases. So if you ever are having a bad case of the runs," she held up a leaf, "this is your plant. We also use it on bruises and burns."

"Is that what they used on-"

Isra cut in before she could finish, having a feeling of where this was going. "I wasn't there. I don't know." She began crushing the flowers with the pestle.

"Have you ever seen him?" The disdain in Cho's voice was blatant and jarring. Isra grimaced, reminded of why she usually avoided the palace handmaidens. "It's hideous!" She squealed. "A crying shame if you ask me. He could have been so handsome but at least now he lives up to his namesake, all leathery and scaly like that."

Without looking up, Isra stretched out a sun-kissed arm and pointed to the door. "Out." Her voice was soft, stern and unwavering.

Cho paused for a moment, no doubt appraising the severity of the situation. Somehow, the handmaiden came to the conclusion that her companion of the last hour had only made an odd sort of joke and stayed put on Isra's desk.

Without a word, Isra set down the pestle, bits of yellow flower pulp smearing on the counter. She ambled over with slow, measured steps, her head held high, her hands clasped behind her back with elbows jutting out. Cho thought of how it mirrored the posture of the soldiers. Isra stood inches away from her, looming in her undecorated cross-collar wrappings, pine green eyes boring into her, and nearly whispered, "You will leave now."

This time there was no room for misunderstandings. Cho left quickly and Isra was alone.

* * *

Night came faster than expected that day. It'd come so fast in fact that, staring out the window, Isra rubbed at her eyes to make sure he wasn't dreaming. "Time flies when you're hiding out from the high and mighty." After cleaning up a bit, she left her study.

Quietly sliding the screen door shut, Isra waltzed over the few steps it took to get to the infirmary. She popped her head in and was happy to see the place empty. Hands tucked away inside her sleeves, she decided to take a stroll before heading back to her war torn quarters. There was something about sleeping in that study that made her uncomfortable even if it meant returning to a room half the size with Judar's trademark brand of destruction all over the place.

The moon was high in the sky, full and pretty like in the lines of an old song. Isra stopped to admire it.

"Another sleepless night? Don't you have a remedy for that?"

She bowed deeply, right hand covering her fist and greeted, "My Lord." He replied by inclining his head to her. "I have many remedies for things and I plan on making many more. Unfortunately for me, the cure for this particular brand of insomnia and its causes is elusive."

"Indeed it must be if the cure cannot be found here."

"I'm starting to believe that it cannot be found anywhere, my lord."

He waited a moment, looking pensive, before stating, "Some things need time to heal and some things need action."

Isra flicked her eyes over to him and then returned her gaze to the moon. "Depends on the person, I suppose and on their experiences."

"Yes," he agreed with a small nod, "I suppose it does depend."

With her hands still tucked in her sleeves, Isra nervously twiddled her thumbs. "So, my lord, am I to assume that you are a man of action?" She asked with practiced calm.

"I will be," he replied with narrowed eyes, staring her down. "One day."

"Then I look forward to that day." Letting the mask of stoicism slip for just a minute, his face was the picture of shock with parted lips and wide baby blue eyes. Isra smiled deviously as the young prince quickly regained his composure.

She stepped away. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I should be getting back to my quarters. As should you."

Isra bowed.

"Lord Hakuryuu."

He bowed back.

"Miss Isra."

* * *

 _A sound not unlike a cow being strangled caught in her throat as she fell, legs at long last giving out and smacking painfully against the earth. Somehow, despite the strain, she managed to brace herself and avoided getting a face full of dirt and rocks. Unfortunately, bracing herself meant relinquishing her hold on the body on her back. Her arms shook under both their weight, muscles burning hellishly as she struggled to hold up both herself and the unconscious body of Idris Hermios._

 _She shifted her body so that the man slid off of her back, groaning and hissing loudly as she did so. For what felt like the first time in hours, Lysandra took a long, deep breath and then sputtered and coughed and wheezed, red-faced, until her head spun. She had been running, then walking, then running again for quite some time. Sweat ran down her face in rivulets._

 _Lysandra prayed that they had gotten far enough away from the carnage. The lack of screaming was a good sign, she supposed._

 _In short, it had been a bloodbath. Bodies that used to have names, faces, and personalities were mercilessly ripped to shreds, cleaved in two, murdered in every way a depraved psychopath could imagine. Her stomach lurched at the memory. They had come in droves._

 _"Idris," she croaked. "You still alive?"_

 _He didn't answer, unsurprisingly. He had taken a hard blow to the back of the head right when the disaster began and been out cold ever since. So much for that divine protection. She would have worried, if she hadn't focused all her being into the two of them surviving that catastrophe. Staggering to her feet, Lysandra wobbled her way over to Idris. She grabbed him under the arms and hauled him steadily toward the cave with jaw-clenching effort._

 _"I really hope that you're not dead. It'd be sort of anticlimactic you know, seeing as you're an all powerful magician capable of creating worlds and shit. Reincarnated into each era, choosing kings to reign over the common folk, while us mortals are stuck in the flow. It's a bit unfair, don't you think? No? I can respect that."_

 _She set him down gently and then plopped onto the ground beside him. Lysandra spent the next few moments staring down at the incapacitated man, hugging her knees to her chest. It was strange. Going by what the warrior's code said, the shame should be eating her alive right about now. Lysandra felt nothing but relief, the tiny pinpricks of joy, and the burning of nearly every muscle in her body. She blew strands of bright orange hair from her face. No way she could go back now. What was left of her people would try and have her hanged or burned or beheaded._

 _Idris' eyes fluttered open and Lysandra felt the air rush out her lungs. She covered her mouth the keep from screaming and gave him an experimental poke in the shoulder._

 _"Lys?"_

 _"The one and only. How do you feel?"_

 _"Like...I got my brains bashed in. What the hell happened...to me?"_

 _"You got your brains bashed."_

 _"Did...did we...win?"_

 _"Wouldn't be hiding out here if we won."_

 _"My fault. Sorry. Sorry."_

 _"It's not your fault. Dimitris lost. That's all there is to it."_

 _"You should have been king."_

 _"No. Not me. Never."_

 _"Should've been you. Should have been. You'dve been better. So much better."_

 _"You are very concussed."_

 _"The scorpion awaits its time to strike." Lysandra opened her mouth to question his statement but he didn't give her a second. "Its venom corrupts the mind, the soul. It takes hold of you, infiltrates every fabric of your being until there is nothing left but the void and the madness." He pushed himself up on his elbows, face pale and sweaty, pupils dilated. He grabbed at her shoulders. "Do not trust it, you hear me? Do not speak to it. Run from it. Run away. Do not acknowledge it. Do not let it touch you. Run. Run. Run."_

 _Then, his eyes rolled back in his head and he started to seize. The next thing Lysandra knew, she was caught in a swarm of chirping white birds._

Isra jerked upright in her bed and rubbed the tears from her face. Even with the nightmare ended, she still felt her heart breaking in two. "When will these damn things end?" Better to make the best of it as she always did. Crawling out of bed, Isra tugged open a drawer and grabbed some paper. Then, she sat at her desk and wrote.

* * *

She woke up late the next day with one hell of a crick in the neck. The sun was already high in the sky and Isra found herself hopping out of bed, throwing open the door with no regard to her massive bedhead, and sprinting toward the servants' cafeteria in the hope that she could make it there before they ran out of breakfast. She rounded a corner a bit too fast, sliding on the mirror-polished palace floor, and just narrowly avoided slamming into a wall.

Only flailing her arms around like a flightless bird tossed off a cliff and sheer willpower kept her from concussing herself. After a moment of steady one-legged hops with arms outstretched, she set to running again albeit a tad more carefully this time. Dodging inanimate objects and bustling servants as if her life depended on it (which it probably did considering the sheer amount of breakable items around) she reached the cafeteria huffing and puffing and threw open the sliding door.

There were a handful of people left. Mostly new servants who hadn't the foggiest idea of how palace life worked. They would learn soon enough, just like Isra had. Luckily, there was one bowl of rice left. She swiped it up along with a pair of chopsticks and gobbled it up on the way to her study.

Setting the bowl down on her desk, she grabbed a hair tie from a drawer and somehow managed to force her unruly curls into a messy bun. Then, she snatched up the basket and was about to head out to the gardens when a voice called out to her.

"Doctor?"

Isra craned her head to see a boy, barely thirteen years old, cradling his left arm which, despite the cloth wrapped around it, was bleeding profusely. She dropped the basket and ushered him over to the infirmary.

It didn't take long to stitch the wound up and to his credit, the boy only let slip a single tear throughout the entire thing. He'd certainly gotten more accustomed to pain since the last time he was in her office.

"Next time," she sighed, carefully winding the bandages around the stitched up gash on his arm, "when you want to play soldier, I recommend using the wooden swords. That's what they're there for."

"I wasn't playing," the boy protested. Nao was his name. "I was training."

"Which is why you use the wooden training swords." When she was finished, Isra put her hands on her hips and gave the boy the most disapproving she could muster. "How many times have I told you this now?"

Nao fidgeted. "Three."

"I don't want to see you here with these kinds of injuries again, Nao. Am I understood?"

The boy jumped into a soldier's stance and saluted. "Yes, Ma'am."

"No training or anything like that for the next two days."

"Yes, Ma'am," he said less enthusiastic than the last time and then took his leave.

The physician took a seat on one of the sick beds, crossing her legs at the ankles, and folding her hands primly in her lap. Unlike her study next door, the infirmary had only one window. It has a nice view of the blooming peach trees and the koi pond, the one with the little red bridge going across it, the deep one, the one Judar fell into. Chuckling, she thought of how she would have liked to see it and then reasoned how it was for the best that she didn't.

Tapping her foot against the hardwood, Isra patiently waited for her next patient. The herb picking could wait for now. The scorpion awaits its time to strike. She yawned, not knowing which was more disturbing; the fact that she was dreaming of the final moments of people completely unrelated to her or the lingering possibility that they were not entirely unrelated.

"Miss Isra?" A familiar voice snapped her out of her reverie.

"Lord Hakuryuu, what a pleasant surprise." Her left hand formed a fist and she folded her right over it and bowed. "What can I do for you today?"

"The itching is back."

"Have you been moisturizing?"

"Yes, well, about that…"

"Oh, not you too. And you're usually so diligent about following my instructions."

"Ah, well, it's not like I deliberately disobeyed them, I promise. I know you have my best interest at heart. I was using the salve you gave me every day just like you said and once I ran out, I came back to get more. Unfortunately, someone else was working the infirmary that day and they gave me...something different. It didn't work."

His hand drifted up and touched the scar on his face seemingly absentmindedly. "They're burning again."

Isra made note of the faraway look in his eye and placed two jars of aloe based salve into his hands. She gripped his shoulder tight. "These should tide you over for the next few months."

"Thank you."

"It's what I do," she shrugged. "And quit training in the sun, it'll only make the scars itch worse."

"Alright," he said, bowing shortly.

Revisiting her train of thought before Prince Hakuryuu had arrived, Isra wondered about her options. Assuming that her dreams were of a mystical origin, there was a discouragingly small pool of people with whom she could discuss the matter.

And as she narrowed down the list, a grimace made its way onto her face. When it came down to it, there was an even smaller handful people within the Empire who knew how magic operated. It was a large handful, yes, likely with some persons spilling over the sides. Eventually, Isra came to the conclusion that her best option lay in the hands of one certain mildly amusing and often mind-numbingly irritating individual.

"Hey, Short Stuff!"

Isra shrieked, head whipping around to the window where Judar happily stood. He held his head in his hands, propped up on the windowsill.

"Judar, what a, uhm, pleasant and wholly unexpected surprise." The Magi opened his mouth to begin his daily torture and Isra held out a hand. "Before you start, I would just like to point out that this place, the oldest out of all the infirmaries here, has been filled with the diseased and dying since before either of us were born. Sickness has been worked into the very matter that make up the floorboards. Just so you know. Wouldn't want you to catch something."

 _Fate forbid Karma actually do its job for once._

The Black Magi looked disgusted, stood up straight, and took a step back from the windowsill. "As of today, I have deemed that you and no one else should be my personal entertainment system. Congratulations."

"How is that any different from what I've been for the last two months?"

"I put in a formal request for you to be my personal attendant. No one seemed to mind it much."

"You threatened them, didn't you?"

"That is none of your concern. You're mine now, Pumpkin Face. You should be grateful."

"...One day you're going to realize what little you truly have in this life, that there is not a single thing in this entire world that within your control. It's going to tear you apart inside, perhaps even drive you mad."

Judar shrugged carelessly. "Sounds like fun. You'd never guess it but some say I'm mad already."


End file.
